by M. L. Huie
Livy turned off the water in the tub and undressed for bed. She decided the safest place for the gun would be for it to stay with her as much as possible. Half an hour later, she fell asleep, her hand curled around the Colt’s handle under her pillow.
* * *
Livy woke the next morning to the sound of classical music. It took a moment for her to register the melody—Tchaikovsky—and the instrument—the violin, of course. Nadia was awake.
She slowly rolled out of bed and assessed the aches and pains throughout her body. The now familiar vodka headache would have been enough. Her cheek felt every bit as sore to the touch as it had yesterday. The purple bruise under her eye looked smaller, but no less violet. The back of her neck ached whenever she looked down, which she resolved to avoid doing for the rest of the day.
Her bedroom at the “American dacha” was twice as big as her room at The Statler. Someone, perhaps Nadia, must have stocked the large closet with women’s clothing. The chest of drawers had an especially extensive collection of undergarments. Livy was impressed to find her size among them. Still, she opted for her own clothes—and her own knickers.
After a long bath, she dressed. She felt the outline of Margot’s picture still in her waistband. Livy then pulled the Colt from under the pillows and slipped it into the right pocket of her skirt. The gun was small, just about six inches long. She’d have to be careful, but with her hand in the pocket, the outline of the Colt couldn’t be seen. She stepped into the hallway and closed the bedroom door. As she did, she plucked one hair from her head, moistened it with the tip of her tongue and gently placed it across the doorjamb.
The classic smells of breakfast floated up from the kitchen off the main room. Livy walked downstairs to find the dining table set for two, complete with what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice and a steaming cup of tea. As she sat down and took a sip of the pulpy drink, Nadia emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate with eggs, two slices of warm white toast, bacon, jam, and sliced tomatoes. She placed it in front of Livy, without a word, and went back to the kitchen.
Full English breakfast, juice, and tea. Livy wondered if this was some sort of last meal.
Nadia joined her a few minutes later. The slender Russian beauty ate with gusto but didn’t speak. The food proved to be as good as it smelled. Livy ate almost everything. The eggs were cooked to perfection, and the tomatoes tasted as if they’d just been pulled off the vine that morning.
Either they intended to execute her that afternoon or Sokolov did indeed have big plans for his new English double agent. She hoped it was the latter.
Of course, she had no intention of taking this show on the road. Livy sensed the final act about to begin. The lead actress felt ready, if a bit battered, after a robust opening. Now was the time to make the dash toward the grand climax and hope she was still around to take a much-deserved curtain call.
Neither woman spoke during the meal. The sounds of silverware on plates and the Russian woman’s loud chewing would have been comical had it not made Livy want to scream. After a few minutes of this, Nadia wiped her mouth with the thick cloth napkin and looked at her.
“Gennady was a good man.” The Russian flung the words like a challenge.
Livy looked up, finished chewing, and put down her fork. “Perhaps we should agree to disagree.”
“You did not know him like I did.”
“No, but then he didn’t try to kill you, did he?”
Nadia still held her carving knife, and with intent. “If he thought you were lying, he had reason.”
“Pity we can’t ask him now.”
Nadia’s lovely upper lip curled. That remark had riled her but good. Nothing in the double-agent rulebook said Livy needed to cozy up to the hired help, even if she was holding a knife.
And Nadia had not relinquished her grip on it one bit.
Livy pushed away from the table and stood. She slipped her hand inside the skirt and found the Colt’s warm grip.
“If you have any concerns, perhaps you should take them up with Major Kostin,” Livy said. “The breakfast was very good. The company even more so.”
With that Livy turned and headed upstairs to her room. At the top of the landing she looked down. Nadia hadn’t moved.
* * *
After spending most of the morning going over and over a Tchaikovsky piece from the confines of her bedroom, Nadia banged on Livy’s bedroom door. Her anger from breakfast didn’t seem to have dissipated one bit as she glared at Livy and announced she’d be going to the store.
“Do not leave the house for any reason,” Nadia said. “You must stay in either the living room or your bedroom. Do not go anywhere else.”
Livy felt a bit like Jonathan Harker at Castle Dracula.
Shortly before two, a car pulled up in the front circular driveway, and Nadia, tying a scarf over her hair, left in it.
Minutes later, Livy heard the sound of another automobile. A Dodge coupe sped down the hill outside and parked in the back. Livy hurried upstairs to her bedroom and put the Colt deep under the pile of pillows on her bed. Then she walked over to the large mirror in the bathroom. Fine—she was wearing the same clothes as the day before, but the skirt hadn’t wrinkled and the blouse had kept its shape. Livy smoothed a few spots in her skirt, pushed her hair to and fro. It would have to do.
Yuri Kostin looked like a man who’d been up all night. His usual catlike saunter had slowed down over the past week.
He went into the kitchen and poured them both a cup of tea. They sat at the square wooden kitchen table.
“I did not know they wanted to send you to England,” he said. “I wanted to keep you here, but this was not my decision.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“You do not understand, Livy,” he blurted out—and then stopped himself. He took a sip of tea, smoothed his tie, and began again. “Comrade Sokolov wants you in London, because he believes we can get more immediate intelligence there. We need to know as much as possible, as quickly as possible, about the British involvement in Truman’s plans.
“This man Fleming, your editor. He was in your Naval Intelligence in the war. They say he was a planner. Very creative, but he was never in the field. A man behind a desk, yes? He is nothing to us, but he knows people. Comrade Sokolov wants you to … get closer to him. He said you can use Fleming to get to the people he knows at MI6.”
Livy feigned a look of hurt for the Russian’s benefit, but inside she felt ill. Both sides wanted her to be their whore. As he continued, she listened, nodding, drinking tea, telling herself that one way or another this would be long over before it ever went that far. But she would remember this particular request. When the time came, she wouldn’t forget how the Russians too planned to use her.
“Will you be there? In London?” she asked.
Kostin started to respond but shrugged instead.
Livy went to the kitchen counter. She opened a drawer, found a stenographer’s pad inside and a pencil. She scribbled on a piece of paper, quietly tore it from the notebook, and replaced pad and pencil in the drawer.
She handed the note to Kostin. It read, Is there anywhere private?
He folded the note, pulled a silver cigarette lighter from his coat pocket, and lit the paper. He dropped the ashes into a trashcan and walked out of the room. Taking her hand, Kostin led Livy upstairs and down the landing to Nadia’s bedroom at the end of the hall. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Kostin opened it with keys from his pocket. The room was even bigger than Livy’s and very pristine. Vaulted ceilings. Carpet in the bedroom. A four-poster bed. Italian marble floors in the bath. A worker’s paradise.
Kostin closed the door quietly. He led her to the large closet beside the bed, similar in design to the layout in Livy’s room, but there the resemblance ended. Kostin slid the doors open, pushed aside several dresses and coats to reveal a half-size door. He flicked through the keys on his ring, found the smallest one, inserted it, and turned the
lock.
Putting a finger to his lips, he stood aside and let Livy enter first. She ducked her head into a completely dark room. A whirring sound, almost like bees in a hive, surrounded her. Kostin pushed in behind, closing the door. A soft overhead light flickered to life.
They had stepped into a concealed listening room hidden within the master suite. The room itself felt about half the size of the bedroom on the other side of the door. One wall consisted of a bank of audio surveillance equipment. A large reel-to-reel machine dominated the center of the console, flanked by controls, nobs, and wires plugged into various outlets. Smaller reel-to-reel machines were mounted at three other spots along the control panel. All the labels were in Russian, but Livy had to assume that each room must have microphones that fed into these tape machines. Three rolling chairs lined the console, with three sets of headphones on a desk alongside a trio of notebooks. Livy wondered how often the “American dacha” had been used to blackmail its “special guests.”
Despite that sobering thought, Livy realized she was in the one room in the house where they wouldn’t be under surveillance. She’d never have an opportunity like this again. This was her only chance. Her cheeks felt warm and her breath came in spurts. The Russian would of course interpret these outward signs as something entirely different. Kostin had not brought Livy here for the grand tour. He had another purpose in mind.
The Russian closed the door behind them and pressed his body against hers, pushing her into the door. His hands on her hips, Kostin kissed Livy hard. She tasted vodka and tobacco on his breath. Livy knew he needed this. She sensed his desire every time they were together in the same room. She pushed her mind away from the moment, critiquing her performance. Did she seem aroused enough? Too much moaning? Inside she felt nothing, but that was the advantage of being a woman at a time like this. It was all about the show.
Livy’s mind raced ahead even as his hands unbuttoned her blouse. His lips dug into her neck.
There would never be a perfect time for what she needed to ask. Best catch him off guard, when his mind, and hands, were otherwise engaged.
“Yuri,” she said, her voice appropriately breathy. “I have to tell you something. Something I couldn’t say out there. Please.”
He lifted his head, his hands still on her breasts. Another kiss on the lips and he pulled back. “Yes?”
“I told you there was something I needed from you.”
“Livy, we will take care of you, of course. There will be money every month, and eventually—”
“That’s not what I meant. I need a favor. From you. Something that’s personal to me.”
He pulled back, his brow furrowed. Curious.
“It’s—it’s about this friend of mine who went missing after the war. She was with SOE too. Afterward I went to meet her family.”
He put his hand in her hair and held her close. “All right. You do not need to be nervous. Just tell me.”
“They’ve never known—you know—what happened to her. She’s still listed as missing, presumed dead. They’re such a sweet couple—in their sixties, I think—but there is this great sadness about them.”
Kostin listened, but she could see the clock ticking in his head. His fingertips gently traced her cleavage. He was a man with more than one purpose.
“Livy, I don’t understand, what could I possibly do?”
“Margot—that’s her name—she was at Ravensbrück. Margot Dupont. The Red Army liberated that camp, didn’t they? She wasn’t on the list of the dead. As far as her folks know she was still alive then. You were there, weren’t you?”
Kostin sighed. “I was with some of those troops, yes, but I still don’t understand what you want from me.”
“When I go back to England, Yuri, I want to be able to tell them something about their daughter. Something that will give them a sense of peace. You must know Russian families who feel the same. It’s killing Margot’s mum and dad. If they could just have some idea of what might have happened to her.”
He kissed her lips gently. “Darling, I don’t know what to tell you. There were prisoners who scattered when the camps were opened. It was chaotic. People everywhere. Some were rounded up, you see. No one knew who was a German and who wasn’t. No one had proper papers. Some prisoners just wandered away. A woman, though. I don’t know. It is possible she was taken—somewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
Kostin pulled away from her. “There are places she could be. We have camps in our sector. They are—what is the word?—temporary. There’s one just north of Berlin, not far from Ravensbrück. At Sachsenhausen. There are others. I don’t know, but it is possible she was rounded up with others by a Red Army patrol.” He put his hands on the side of her face. His blue eyes searched hers. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”
Livy nodded. “I just want to help them. If she’s gone, they need to know that. Just find out for me if you can. It’s all I’m asking for.”
“Of course. There is a man at the embassy—Nikolai. He was with the division at Ravensbrück. That place, Livy.” He shook his head. “If she survived that place, then she is a very lucky girl. But I will ask Nikolai. See what he can tell me. That’s all I can do”
Livy didn’t know if she should feel hopeful or angry. She’d said it. He hadn’t lashed out or closed himself off. No. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her. And she kissed him back. She sensed desperation in his touch, and she imagined he sensed hers. The line had been cast, and now she had to wait to see what it might catch. But Livy could feel the beginning of the end game, and it lifted her heart.
Kostin seemed to sense the change in her as well. The intensity of his kisses became more aggressive. He lifted her onto the desk in front of the listening console. His hands gripping her hips as they kissed. She let him take over. Above all else, Livy wanted him to believe her. If he did, then she might be able to end all this and find the friend who sent those wireless cries for help.
Chapter Twenty Five
An hour later, Kostin hurried to leave the house before Nadia returned.
“I need to get back to my room and my things, Yuri,” Livy pleaded with him. “Everything here has to be finalized with my office before I leave. I can’t just disappear.”
He assured Livy she could go back to the hotel as soon as it was safe. His ambiguity alarmed her. She wondered how the Russians might define “safe” for their prized English spy.
Nadia brought back a sack full of groceries, although Livy felt certain the real reason for her long absence had more to do with taking the surveillance audio to the embassy for review. She wondered how thick the walls of the listening room might be, and if any sounds from her afternoon with Kostin would be picked up on tomorrow’s tapes.
While Nadia unpacked the groceries, Livy returned to her room. She pocketed the Colt first and then checked to see if anything had been shifted. The room looked clean. She then thought over everything Kostin had told her about the Russian camps in the east. Sachsenhausen. House of the Saxons.
She’d heard rumors for two years now that the Russians were still keeping POWs in prison camps once used by the Germans. Now she had to find out if Kostin’s explanation was plausible. If Soviet troops had picked up Margot among the prisoners freed from Ravensbrück then it seemed likely that they’d relocate her.
Poor Margot. Livy couldn’t comprehend a life of unending imprisonment. Moving from one foreign enemy to another.
Downstairs she heard chords being plucked. Nadia tuning her violin again. She’d already tuned the damned thing twice today.
Livy left her room and walked downstairs. She remembered seeing several bookcases in the sunken den on the ground floor when Kostin had brought her in. Hoping to find a book that might lend Kostin’s story more veracity, she interrupted Nadia with her request to go downstairs.
“What is it you want down there?”
“A book. I can’t exactly sit here all day staring at the walls.”
“I will ask permission first, and let you know,” she said, turning her focus back to the violin.
“You’re going to ask a busy man like Major Kostin if I’m allowed to read?”
Nadia didn’t so much as look up. “You have five minutes. No more.” She looked down at the slim, elegant watch on her wrist and back up to Livy.
She thanked Nadia and headed downstairs, as the incessant plucking began again.
The ground floor felt damp and cold. Even though it was a sunny day, thick curtains hung over the two windows facing the back of the house. The black leather sofas and the deep slate gray walls gave the room a pall. Two oak bookshelves stood on either side of the room. Each unit rose to well over six feet and looked almost as wide. She’d have to go through hundreds of books in order to find one with a detailed map of Germany. And she had only five minutes. Livy also couldn’t run the risk of being caught either. Even two years after the war, the country remained the most hotly contested piece of land on Earth. Nadia would be immediately suspicious.
Livy’s eyes skimmed the bindings of the thick leather tomes that lined each bookshelf. Most had titles in Russian, but she recognized a few words and names. The first shelf seemed to be primarily fiction. The second contained histories dating from Ancient Rome right up to what the Russians referred to as “The Great Patriotic War.” She figured one or more of those books might include maps of Germany, but as she glanced at the third shelf, she saw taller, thinner books that seemed more likely suspects. More titles in Russian hindered her quick perusal. Eventually she spotted a word in one title that gave her hope. The authorship had been attributed to the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Kartographie. Cartography.
She ripped the book down, kneeling in front of the shelf. A book of maps. Perfect! The early pages only included Rome and Saxony. She skipped to the back of the book and found a map labeled 1928. Before the war.
But something had changed. Like the room itself. What was it? The tuning upstairs had stopped.